In the Midst of my Enemies
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Somebody has kidnapped Joan. Among other mysteries, why isn't God protecting her? Please review
1. Two captures

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with JOAN. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

_(Author's Note: This story is part of a series that takes place after the JOAN OF ARCADIA TV show ended. A listing of the other stories is on my profile. _

_This story is set in fall, 2006. The main changes in Joan's life are:_

_Joan and Adam are married and attending college together._

_Grace, Luke, Adam, and Helen know Joan's secret, though Helen is still getting used to it._

**Chapter 1 Two Captures**

The driver looked out of his car at the Baltimore slum street. Human misery was visible, but the driver was looking for only one particular wretch.

There. White guy, somewhat plump, sitting on a wall glaring out at the world, younger than most derelicts.

The driver got out of his car. "Do you need help?"

The young man focused his glare on the driver. "No. Go away."

"You've just spent several years in the juvenile court system," said the driver. "Your stepfather won't let you in the house. You've got no money. The shelter threw you out for starting a fight. So I ask again, do you need help?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Then climb in."

The young man sulkily got in the passenger seat of the car; the driver crossed over to the left side. He knew he was taking a risk getting in the car with the violent youth, but from what he knew of the young man's record, he wouldn't attack a benefactor. He might work up a grudge and then attack, but that would take time. The driver started the car and sought the nearest way out of the slum district. "Call me Nick," said the driver. It wasn't his real name.

"Ramsey."

"Tell me your story."

The young man seemed to have trouble organizing his life in his head. Finally he said, "There was this girl—"

The driver started to make a sardonic remark about girls being trouble in general, but couldn't quite do it. There was one woman who was far too dear to him. Instead, he said "Joan Girardi."

"Yeah," said Ramsey, too wound up in himself to wonder how the driver knew so much about him. "I thought she liked me. She went to the winter formal with me, and we left together. But then her Daddy shows up, and she turns into Daddy's little girl."

The driver knew that the story was much darker than that. Ramsey had been thrown out of the formal for smuggling in alcohol. He didn't know why Joan kept following Ramsey, but doubted that she was besotted with the boy. She probably had some sentimental notion of reforming his life. Her "Daddy", Chief Will Girardi, probably was afraid that Joan was in danger of rape. Ramsey had obtained a gun, but the combined urging of Joan and her father persuaded him to put it down, and he was arrested on various counts. Joan ended up with a reputation of being somewhat of a bimbo.

"She never tried to reach me afterward, even though I did what she said," complained Ramsey. "She just dumped me."

The driver knew better: Joan fell seriously ill a few months later, and it took her months to deal with the psychological consequences. She had tried to reform another troubled teen named Judith, with even worse results: the girl had died before Joan's eyes. Ramsey was probably a distant memory that Joan was only too happy to forget.

But the driver mentioned none of that. Instead, with apparently casualness, he commented, "She's married now. Calls herself Joan Girardi-Rove."

"Rove? She married that wimp?"

"Yes."

Ramsey thought over it. "I wanna 'nother try at her."

Aha, thought the driver. "Let me tell you a plan---"

------

Joan Girardi-Rove was trying not to be overwhelmed by sentiment.

Her father-in-law, old Karl Rove, was planning to sell his house and move to an apartment. It made perfect sense, now that she and Adam were away at college and Mr. Rove was living alone, but Adam's studio was on the property and had to go too.

There were a lot of memories here, culminating in the day when she asked Adam to marry her. Somehow she had had the feeling that the surroundings were as permanent in space as they were in her memory. But no, Adam was coming down from college next week to choose what to pack or throw away or resell. Joan agreed to come down a week earlier, when Adam was tied up with an art project, and pick up items of sentimental value.

After about fifteen minutes, she had accumulated a big enough stack to take to her car. She walked out the studio door, leaving it unlocked for a second visit, and headed to the auto in the driveway.

"Stop right there!" said a rough voice behind her.

Joan spun around and found herself facing a coarse-featured young man with a gun. She recognized him even after nearly three years passage. Her papers fell to the ground.

"Ramsey!"

"Walk in the garage."

"The garage? Why?"

Joan was enraged. For three years she had been accustomed to obeying out the wishes of another Person, because she trusted the Person to have everybody's wellbeing in mind. On the rare occasions on which she had rebelled, the Person had waited patiently for her to work out her priorities. Now she was being asked to obey a punk whom she despised, for no other reason that he had a weapon that could kill her or main her for life. But for the moment she had no choice.

She turned and walked to the garage, opposite the shed. As she did she saw a gust of wind blowing the autumn leaves around. That aroused a feeling of déjà vu, but she was too frightened of her present danger to figure out what it meant.

She entered the garage. After she had gone a few steps, with Ramsey still several yards away, somebody ceased her from behind, pressing a cloth against her face. It was damp and had a sweet smell. "Drug", she thought, but that was her last coherent thought as the chemicals entered her system and she passed out.

She came to lying on a bed. For a few seconds it actually felt comfortable, then her memories returned and she remembered Ramsey's attack. Then she remembered something far more horrifying. Her friend Veronica Mars had confided how somebody had drugged her drink during a wild party; she had revived half-naked with definite signs of having been molested. In a panic Joan opened her eyes and looked over her body. Her jeans were still on, and even her shoes. Either they had left her body alone or they had painstakingly re-dressed her after ---- she decided to believe the firs option.

Her wallet was still in her pocket, with about $ 50 in cash. It didn't do her any good at the moment, but it was oddly generous of her captors not to take it. Not surprisingly, her cell phone was gone.

There was a strap around her waist. But her arms were outside it, and it proved easy to undo the buckle – it was just a glorified seat belt. She released the strap and sat up to see her surroundings better.

It seemed to be a small bedroom – her bed, and another with a narrow space between them. In front of her was an open door, through which she could see a narrow hallway with shelves. No windows. Everything looked abnormally small or cramped, as if space was a premium here. Where was here?

There was a paper sitting on the other bed. Joan got to her feet, then lost her balance as the room seemed to spin around her. The other bed broke her fall, and she decided that the drug was disturbing her balance. But at least she had the letter. It was typed or, more likely, computer printed, so there was no way of idenitifying handwriting.

_Joan:_

_You are in our power. As long as you behave, nothing will happen to you. You have facilities to last you several days until this is over. In the kitchenette you will find snacks to eat. There is also a small washroom that you can use when necessary._

_You may or may not have noticed that we have cameras watching you to make sure you don't try to escape. If you disable the cameras we will have to do something more extreme like tie you up, so leave them alone. You will have privacy in the washroom, but don't abuse the privilege._

_You will find some books in the kitchenette, including the complete HARRY POTTER series. At 4000 pages that should help you pass the time._

_Just relax and wait for your friends to ransom you._

No signature, but it was blatantly obvious that it wasn't Ramsey. His way of dealing with the world was hitting or threatening people. Somebody had carefully planned her confinement, even adding in ways to make her physically comfortable.

Joan spotted one of the cameras, and gave it the finger, hoping her captor was watching.

She didn't know what else she could do.

TBC


	2. Official Investigation

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

**Chapter 2 Official Investigation**

Will was in his office of the police station when the fateful call came in.

"Will Girardi."

"I've got your daughter," said a voice on the other end. "If you want her back, leave a million dollars under the red truck at Satar Junk Yard, by midnight Friday. Good-bye." A click sounded on the other end.

"Who is this? What is this about?" demanded Will. If this was a crank call, it was in very poor taste. He hoped that it WAS merely a crank call, but fortunately a false crime report to police headquarters counted as a crime and justified an investigation.

Will called the switchboard and tried to keep his voice calm. "This is Girardi. Try to trace the call that just came to me. If our equipment won't do it, call the phone company. It may be important."

"Yes, sir."

Next Will dialed Joan's cell phone, hoping that she'd answer and tell him things were all right. She should be at the college. But there was no answer.

Will called Adam next, and did get an answer. "Hello, Adam—"

"This is Will. Do you know where Joan is?"

"She was going to Arcadia today, my Dad's house, to collect things from my studio. Why?"

"I'll tell you later." Will was still hoping that it was a hoax.

Will's desk phone rang again. "Hello?!"

"This is Kevin. We just got a weird call at my paper, saying Joan had been kidnapped. Naturally the reporters called me, but the guy hung up. Is Joan in danger, Dad?"

"I don't know, son. And I'm going to look into it right now." Will hung up and started looking around the department for his best detective.

When he and Lieutenant Barbara Gardner reached the Roves' back yard, Will's heart sank. In the middle of the yard, being blown about by the wind, were large pieces of paper, such as Adam used for sketches. Will gathered them. To his embarrassment, some showed Joan naked. He knew that Joan posed for her husband sometimes, but she was always concerned as to who might see the drawings. She would not voluntarily leave them blowing around the yard. Things were looking bad.

"You take the garage, I'll take the other building. It's the studio," he told Gardner.

The studio door was still unlocked. The studio looked disorganized, but it was the sort of mess that one would expect in the middle of a move. It did not seem to have been ransacked, or damaged during a struggle.

"Sir?" called Lieutenant Gardner.

"You've seen something?" Will asked, coming out into the yard.

"Not 'seen'," said the detective, standing in front of the garage. "Smelled. Come over here, and take a deep breath."

Will did as she suggested, and detected a faint scent. "Chloroform."

That was the crucial sign. Chloroform was a chemical once used to put patients to sleep for surgery. It was no longer used that way because of side effects, but a kidnapper trying to knock out a victim might use it. And there was no everyday reason for chloroform to be around.

The details were still fuzzy, but the conclusion was clear. Joan had really been kidnapped.

When Will got home, Helen was sitting on the living room sofa, staring at the floor. Kevin's wife, Lily, had her arm around Helen but looked similarly glum. Lily was several months pregnant and could definitely empathize with a woman whose daughter was in danger.

They looked up when Will entered. "Any more news?" asked Helen.

"No," Will said reluctantly.

"But you'll have your whole department on it---?"

"It's not my department right now."

"WHAT?"

"They won't let me run the investigation. Too emotionally close to it. But the department IS doing their best, and Detective Gutock has promised to keep me up to date on anything."

"But—"

"It's for the best, in the long run. Though I admit feeling rather helpless."

"The hell with the long run. They could be molesting her right now!"

There it was, the worst possibility. Helen had been raped during her first year in college, and had been traumatized by it for years. Her worse nightmare was that the same thing could happen to her daughter.

"I doubt it," Will said, trying to put all of his faith behind that doubt. "The sort of criminal that holds a captive for the ransom is not the same personality that – that – " he didn't want to verbalize what he was thinking. But as a policeman, he had read cases of an abductor doing horrible things to a female victim, then abandoning the body.

The doorbell rang, and Will cursed at the distraction.

It was a middle-aged man with swarthy skin and a beard. "Chief Girardi? I'm Professor Begh. Perhaps you remember me?"

"Investigating sabotage to the mosque, yes. But right now we're very pre-occupied---"

"With Joan, yes. That is why I am here. May I come in?"

Will stood aside and let the professor in.

"I met your daughter a year ago, very impressed by her. She was asking intelligent questions about Islam. And later—"

"Yes, yes, but today?" prompted Helen.

"I can raise a million dollars in time."

"WHAT?" burst out Lily.

"Teaching is my profession, but it is not my source of income. My family has raised horses for generations, both here and in Turkey, and it is quite a profitable business. I may not have a million dollars at hand, but I can raise it within the week. Use it for the ransom. No strings tied; this is for Joan's sake."

"Thank you," said Will, now highly impressed, "but I can't accept it. We're not paying the ransom."

"What do you mean?" demanded Helen.

"We can't reward terrorists by giving in. The policy--"

"Who's we? Joan is my daughter too, and the hell with policy. Professor, if you'll let me have the money, I'll ransom Joan and do my best to repay you."

"Helen, you can't—"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do. This is the twenty-first century!"

"Couldn't you use it as bait?" demanded Lily. "Keep an eye on the junkyard, grab whoever comes to pick it up. The professor gets his money back. How's that for policy?"

"Getting my money back is not the priority—"

"Wait, wait," Will said. "There's something wrong here. Let me think."

Amazingly, everybody quieted down and indeed let him think.

"Whoever did this knew a lot about the family," Will mused. "They knew I was with the police, that Kevin worked at the newspaper. They knew that Joan used to live with her father-in-law and was removing her stuff. So why did they think that the family has easy access to a million dollars?"

"We do," said Lily.

"Because the Professor was noble and offered it. Did they anticipate that? I didn't."

"I see what you mean," said the Professor. "I have a daughter too, Morgiana. I have assets, and I would have no hesitation about paying the ransom. Leaving aside the morality of the thing, the logical target for a kidnapping would have been Morgiana."

"Exactly," said Will. "WHY DID THEY WANT JOAN?"

TBC


	3. Theological Speculations

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

**Chapter 3 Theological Speculations**

"Luke! I just heard the news about your sister." Luke's Harvard roommate, Tom, was standing in the door of their shared room.

"Thanks."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but could you leave me alone for a few hours? I need to Email a lot of people in Arcadia about this, and some of it's rather personal—"

"Sure, Luke. Let me get my own laptop out; Babs may let me use her connection."

Luke had not been entirely honest about the Email. Someday he might actually let Tom into the secret and not have to lie, but for the moment he had to concentrate on his current problem.

He, Joan, and Grace had decided from the start not to talk about their secret over the phone or in Email, either of which might be tapped. It was easy to adhere to the rule when they were all in Arcadia and could meet face-to-face whenever necessary. But now Grace was in Europe, Luke was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Joan and Adam were at Baconia University, and only his Mom was in Arcadia. For some time Luke had been working on an encryption program for their electronic messages. Now it was imperative to get it done. What was more, he needed to add an extra feature to prevent the program from being used by anybody but Grace, Mom, Adam, Joan, and himself. Dad said that the kidnappers had apparently been collecting information on them for some time; Luke had to make sure they could not decipher their messages.

Mom put the new program to use almost immediately. Within half an hour of Luke's sending the program, he got an encrypted mail.

_Luke, this is a wonderful idea. But now you've got to get in touch with Him and beg him to help Joan. Why isn't He doing anything?_

_I don't know, _Luke typed back_. And We don't get in touch with Him, He decides when to contact us._

_If He isn't doing anything, He could at least tell us where Joan is and who has her. I could get the information to Will, somehow, without violating the secret._

_That's a good idea, _Luke typed_, but I still don't know how to contact Him._

_It's horrible thinking of what might be happening. After my ordeal I at least was able to reach the police and the doctors. Joan has nobody to protect her and keep her spirits up._

That was chilling. It was the most explicit that Helen had ever gotten about the rape at the college. She must have seen the parallels immediately and was reliving the ordeal. Luke was so shocked that he couldn't think of a reply for almost a minute, and Mom sent another message.

_How can He expect us to help Him at the drop of a hat if He won't help us in our worst crisis?_

_I don't know, Mom._

_You don't know, you don't know. You're the one who finds things out!_

_I'll try._

_Lily coming. Gotta sign off._

ENCRYPTION TERMINATED

Luke had himself gone through periods of doubt about their divine Friend's motives, but they were powered by vague suspicions, like reading up on the fate of the original Joan of Arc. Now God was being silent when they most needed him, and was losing Helen as a result. What was He thinking?

ENCRYPTED FILE ARRIVING – GRACE

_Thank goodness you got this system up – I haven't been able to talk to anybody. Any news about Joan that you haven't been able to share openly?_

_No,_ Luke typed_. Except that Mom is asking why God isn't helping out._

_Good question. But are we doing our best?_

_What do you mean?_

_It's Ryan Hunter behind this, don't you think? He knows a lot about Joan, and he has a motive for getting her in his power. _

_But why the ransom? He knows we can't pay a million dollars._

_To mislead people about their motives. If people are following the money, they won't suspect private grudges._

_Wow, I hadn't thought of that, Grace._

_I suspect people of lying all the time. You like to believe people, Luke._

_That sounds a bit insulting – but you're right, I'll suggest Hunter to Dad. Joan gave Dad a sort of half-true account last spring – that Hunter was a religious fanatic who thought Joan was some sort of prophet._

_The half-truth won't set you free._

Luke thought that sounded flippant, particularly over Email where he couldn't tell expression and tone. But sarcasm was a way Grace expressed herself.

_I'll call Dad. Mom doesn't know all the history. It's so good that we can talk like this._

_Yeah. You want to get together tonight?_

A few weeks earlier, God had given them an unusual boon: the ability to share a dream together, even though Luke was in Massachusetts and Grace in Italy. Usually they turned into erotic dreams---

_I wouldn't feel right about it, at the moment_, typed Luke.

_I'm not talking about sex! Thought you might want a shoulder to cry on. You helped me, the last time my Mom went into the hospital for alcohol poisoning._

Luke remembered. Grace was alone in her house, and very depressed. Luke had spent the night in her bed – not to have sexual contact, but simply to be there for her. They had stayed virgins on that occasion.

_I want to see you more than almost anything, Grace. But I don't want to endanger Joan._

_Why would getting together in a dream endanger Joan?_

_I don't know. Do miracles follow conservation laws? If I use up a miracle for us, does that mean that I can't pray for a miracle for Joan?_

_Miracles violate scientific laws, isn't that the point? But if you're worried about it, I understand why you won't come. All right, have you talked to Rove?_

_Not yet. I know he must be devastated._

_Let me. I've known him since childhood. You talk to your Dad about Hunter._

ENCRYPTION TERMINATED

Luke thought through what to tell his father, to suggest Hunter as a suspect without telling the whole story. Grace was right: it was easy, and even reasonable, to complain about their Friend's mysterious inaction, but there were also things that they could do.

TBC


	4. In Captivity

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

**Chapter 4 In Captivity**

Once she thought that the drug had worn off, Joan did the sensible thing and explored the limits of her prison.

There was indeed a washroom behind the beds. It had a toilet and washbasin, and plenty of towels and paper, but no way to take a shower or a bath. Maybe the captors thought Joan wouldn't be here long enough to need one. Because they planned to release her, or because they planned to kill her? Joan remembered a grim remark that Luke had once made_: Pavlov was always nice to his dogs until he cut their throats._

Joan pushed that thought of her mind and continued searching. The narrow corridor did include kitchen facilities. There was a small fridge on a shelf, with Cokes and ice cream. Joan was actually tempted, but at the moment she didn't want to accept ANYTHING from her captors.

There was another moment of vertigo, but Joan supported herself by leaning against the shelf.

No stove. Maybe they feared that she could start a fire and use it as a weapon.

Plenty of snacks that could sit there at room temperature, and the expected complete set of HARRY POTTER. Joan had a weird vision of herself curled up comfortably in bed with snacks and a book, while her captors dickered for her price like one of the Begh family's horses.

That suddenly caused her to wonder how her family was reacting to her captivity. Particularly her mother, who might remember her experience of rape, at the very age Joan was now. If only Joan could send word that she was all right. But was she really all right?

Continuing down the corridor, she found it terminating another room. There were windows here that were somehow blacked out but they didn't look windows of a house or office. They were at a slant and spanned most of the front wall above waist level.

To her right was a door, something with a big lever handle and another blacked-out window. Not surprisingly, the lever wouldn't move.

Suddenly Joan realized where she was and the oddities made sense. She was in a mobile home. It was narrow because it was constrained to fit in the lanes of a highway. Water was limited to an onboard tank that was sufficient to supply a basin and toilet for a few days.

What was more, it was in motion, pulled behind another vehicle. That, and not the drugs, explained why her footing was awkward. Turning and lane changes, invisible to her but still sensed as inertia. She had had AP Physics.

From the kidnappers' point of view, it was an ingenious idea. Choose a stationary hiding place, and the police, led by her father, might track it down. But with their captive in a trailer, they could dodge the police for days, as long as nobody gets suspicious of the trailer itself. Would somebody notice the blacked-out windows, or would they look like tinted glass? It was illegal for somebody to ride in a mobile home in transit, but that would scarcely bother her captors. Kidnapping was illegal too.

A mobile home was designed to be lived in, and that made it an effective prison. Properly stocked, it could keep a prisoner alive for days without the kidnappers coming into contact. And if something did go wrong, their cameras would tell them so and they could enter the home to fix the problem.

Joan went back to the beds, sat on one, and brooded. So far, she had seen no way out. If she were a fictional heroine like Buffy or Xena, or even a clever real-life girl like Veronica Mars, she probably would have an escape plan by now. Joan had nothing. Except—

She dared not speak aloud, lest the spy devices picked up. But He did not require thoughts to be spoken. _Help me, God. You're omniscient, you know where I am. Get me out of here. _

No immediate response.

Hours passed. They had left Joan her watch, and from that she could tell that it was getting to be evening. She was getting hungry. Not only that, but she realized that stimulating her metabolism might enable her body to get rid of the drugs faster. She went to the kitchenette, got a Coke and a sandwich.

She had just swallowed her first bite when she remembered something spooky. There was an ancient legend about a girl, Persephone, who had been dragged to the lands of the dead. She had appealed to the gods for help, only to be told that she could never leave, because she had eaten the food of the place. Joan reminded herself that this was no legend, just a modern-day crime.

Still no sign from God. Was this some kind of test, waiting to see if she would break out on her own? Joan was not good at intrigue. A few months she had tried to do some sleuthing, like her friend Veronica Mars, and wound up with several embarrassing incidents, including trying to ride a runaway horse. God had even teased her afterward about her bumbling. Or was she supposed to "trust in the Lord, wait patiently for Him?" You'd think God would at least tell her which way He wanted her to go.

Getting late now. She went to the bathroom, hoping that she got rid of most of the drug in the process, then wondered how to spend the night.

The light switch wouldn't go OFF. That would, of course, defeat the purpose of the camera. But she could at least turn away from the light in bed and keep her eyes closed. And with the camera in mind, she definitely wasn't going to undress, though it would be awkward sleeping in her clothes. The big worry was making herself vulnerable. She might be locked in, but her captors could presumably come in at any time while she was sleeping, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The basic problem was trying to make sense of the situation. What did they want of her? Ransom money? They would have done better by kidnapping Morgiana Begh. Revenge on Ramsey's part? Leaving her alone with a comfortable bed and plenty of snacks was a weird way to go about it.

In spite of it all, Joan managed to drift off to sleep. Maybe tomorrow would bring the solution.

TBC

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know that this is the third no-action chapter in a row. The action will pick up in the next installment)_


	5. Moral Lesson

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

**Chapter 5 Moral Lesson**

Nothing happened during the night. Joan awoke, feeling a little stiff and in need of a shower, but otherwise OK. Even the longing for a shower was more habit than need.

She was eating "breakfast" – really the same type food as yesterday's "dinner" – when the front door opened with a clang. "Want some fresh air, Joan?" said a voice, which wasn't Ramsey's. "Come on out."

Somewhat nervous, Joan got up from the bed and walked to the front of the trailer. The door was open. She found herself looking at a masked man standing in front of a thick wall of trees.

A wind blew nearby leaves around. The sight had earlier given Joan déjà-vu; now she remembered what it meant.

"You're Ryan Hunter." Joan said.

"So he's given you 'radar' now?" sneered the man.

"I'd have guessed it anyway."

"Still, radar is not something you could tell a jury about, is it?"

He intended that as a taunt, but it did give away some information: that he intended to set Joan free at some point, and was planning how to cover his tracks afterward.

"Don't try to run. We're miles away from the nearest town, and we can chase you down in our trucks."

_Unless I dashed into the woods. But I don't know anything about survival in the wild; it's not a subject they taught at Crazy Camp, because some inmates might try to run away._

"You've really planned this out. How did you know where I would be yesterday?"

"Luck and alertness. I've been monitoring the news from Arcadia, and I saw an ad from old Mr. Rove, advertising his house. I altered my appearance a little and offered myself as a prospective buyer. At one point I created a fuss about the messy studio, and Rove said not to worry – his daughter-in-law would start cleaning it out that weekend. Perfectly innocent remark on his side, of course."

"I'm not blaming HIM."

"But let's talk of more important matters. It's nine o'clock on the second day of your captivity," Hunter went on. "Do you know where your God is?"

Joan kept silent, partly because she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of responding to his taunt, and partly because she really was puzzled by the same thing.

"God's in his heaven, all's right with the world, said Browning. But that's not so, is it?"

"Do you want Him to charge to the rescue?" Joan said, trying to sound cool. "It might not be pleasant for you."

"What, you think He might smite the wicked with his thunderbolt? Doesn't happen very often. In fact, that's the whole point."

"The whole point?" repeated Joan, startled. Was he finally going to explain the reason for her abduction?

"Right. He's not going to work a miracle and let you out of bondage, like Peter and Paul in the Book of Acts. Miracles interfere with His natural laws and Free Will, right? Strange thing about free will. Once you give it to a bunch of humans, some of them will turn against the others and take away their free will. You don't feel free at the moment, do you, Joan?"

"I don't understand."

"I didn't kidnap you for the ransom, Joan. I knew your family and friends couldn't afford a million dollars. And I don't want to hurt you. All I want to do is demonstrate to you that God doesn't care. He didn't care what happened to my beloved fiancée when she fell on a mountain trail, and He doesn't care about you. Repeat after me: God doesn't care."

"Go to hell." Joan retorted.

"He's taking His time managing that, isn't He? But perhaps you're underestimating your helplessness, because we haven't made things unpleasant enough for you. Ramsey! Lena!"

Ramsey suddenly got out of the towing truck. With him was a girl whom Joan recognized from quite another context. Her name was Lena Loring, and she had been sent to Crazy Camp during Joan's year because she was a bully who picked on girls at her school. She had gotten a room of her own at the camp because nobody wanted to share it.

"I told you, I want to be called 'Xena'," complained the girl.

"Whatever. You two, tie Ms. Girardi-Rove to a tree for a while."

"Wait! You can't do this—" Joan shouted in panic.

"You don't have any freedom in this matter, Joan. Let's see if God will rescue you. If not--"

The two younger people grabbed Joan and pushed her against a tree. Lena got behind Joan and yanked her arms back.

"Ow! What have I ever done to you?"

"Interloping bitch! I had a thing for the Montgomery girl, but she decided that you were her sweetheart. Didn't give me a glance all summer. At least I got a pic of her bod, the day she went skinny-dipping. Still got it. And you let her get killed!"

Joan took a minute to decipher that. The ill-fated Judith Montgomery and she had been close friends at the camp, and a few months afterward. Although Judith once confided that "I think I'm gay", she never tried to seduce Joan but kept it at the level of loyal friendship. It had brought some happiness into the last few months of Judith's tragic life. From Lena's coarse point of view, it must have looked like a lesbian love triangle.

Ryan had done a clever job of recruiting enemies of Joan to do his dirty work. What was more, Joan suspected that Ryan had rigged things up so that, if anything went wrong, he could get away and the two unstable young recruits would wind up in prison. It hadn't occurred to either of them to conceal their identity, even with Ryan's example.

Lena, having helped Ramsey tie her up, distracted Joan from her thoughts by punching her in the stomach.

"Auugghh!" gaped Joan, trying to catch her breath.

"Don't touch her!" Ramsey yelled at Lena.

"The boss has gone off, and I don't take orders from you--- oww! You're breaking my arm!"

"Do you take orders from me now?" demanded Ramsey, who had Lena's arm twisted behind her back.

"Yeah, ow! Yeah!"

"Then get the hell out of here."

Lena stomped off, apparently deciding that Ramsey's ability to inflict pain was greater than hers. Ramsey gave Joan what was obviously intended as a friendly smile, but she found it grotesque. "Saved you from that bitch. I'd say that deserves a kiss."

And since she obviously couldn't be expected to walk up and kiss him while tied to a tree, he walked up to her and presented his cheek.

Helpless captive to a religious fanatic and two wild young people with frightening sexual obsessions. Unless Hunter's analysis was correct, why wasn't God protecting her? And if Hunter was right—

TBC

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've included some back story here from other JOAN stories I've written and posted on FanFiction. The idea that Hunter was embittered by the accidental death of his fiancée is from AUTUMN RITUALS. The details about Judith skinny-dipping at Crazy camp, and confiding her sexual feelings to Joan, are from IN RECOVERY, where Lena/Xena was mentioned once._


	6. De Profundis

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

**Chapter 6 De Profundis**

Being tied up, Joan had only one way of fighting back against Ramsey, and she spat in his face.

Wrong move. Ramsey went into one of his towering rages, and for the first time the rage was projected against Joan. "Can't even thank me properly? Ungrateful bitch. Well, I'll TEACH you to love me."

Moving forward, he grabbed the belt of Joan's jeans and tried to yank them downward.

"No! Please!" yelled Joan. Giving up on Ramsey and hoping there was somebody in earshot that could hear, she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Help! Rape!"

Relief came unexpectedly from nearby. "Get away from her, Ramsey. This isn't part of the plan."

"Plan, plan," taunted Ramsey. "It's part of my plan now." He reached for Joan's briefs.

BANG.

Ramsey, with an utterly bewildered look, sank to the ground. Joan could see blood flowing from underneath him. Apparently Ramsey had let Hunter have the gun at some point, and lost ultimate control of the situation.

The sound of the blast brought back Lena from the other direction. "What happened? Ah. Can't fight back now, can you?" She kicked Ramsey's body. "You messed up my arm, but I can still kick good." She did it again.

Joan, watching in horror, realized that even if the gunshot wound was not fatal, Lena's abuse might be enough to kill Ramsey. The same must have occurred to Hunter, who was rushing up but still too far away to physically intervene. Another BANG, and Lena fell across the body of her victim.

Hunter reached the scene and stared down at the two bodies in shock, then at the half-naked Joan. "It wasn't supposed to end this way."

_No,_ Joan thought furiously. _You recruit two vicious crazies to do your dirty work, then act surprised when they turn nasty. _

Hunter threw the gun into the woods, then stepped behind the tree to untie Joan. She anxiously pulled her trousers up as soon as her hands were free.

"I've got to get them to a hospital. Help me get them in the trailer," Hunter asked, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world for a kidnapper to request a favor of his victim. Joan's inclination was to run into the woods, but she couldn't risk one or two people dying while she did nothing. She didn't think Hunter had had a sudden change of heart. He must have realized that he could be charged with murder if either of them died.

She picked up Lena, the lighter of the two, and carried her to the back of the trailer to the bed where she had spent the night. She used the belt to strap her in place so that she wouldn't fall off when the trailer moved. As she went out, Hunter passed her in the narrow corridor, carrying Ramsey. Joan looked back to check that he was preoccupied with Ramsey, then dashed for the woods.

A few yards into the forest, she hid in the foliage and watched the road. Hunter, with a brooding expression on his face, was peering at the woods, yet what he was looking for did not seem to be Joan, or his gun. Instead he seemed to be looking for – guidance. Somebody to tell him what to do next.

He seemed to reach a decision. He pulled an object out of his pocket and put it at the bottom of the tree where Joan had been tied. Then he strode to his car and drove away as fast as the weight of the trailer would permit.

Joan emerged, realizing that although she was now safe, she had no idea where she was or how to reach civilization again.

But Hunter had solved the problem for her. At the foot of the tree was the object that he had left for her. It was her cell phone.

-----

The crazy story was all over the news by afternoon. How the kidnapping victim had called 911, safe but utterly lost. They had to triangulate her signal on some cell towers to figure where she was, a small road in rural Pennsylvania. And how a stranger drove up to a hospital in a small town with two badly wounded youths in his trailer, and calmly confessed to shooting both of them. Then the thrill of realizing that they were all part of the same case.

Naturally the reporters wanted the full story, but it proved hard to get. The shooter, after spending a few hours in the local jail, was transferred to the custody of the FBI, who had jurisdiction because he had taken a hostage over a state line. They weren't letting him talk to anybody. The two young people, though alive, were too badly hurt to talk. Attempts to talk to the kidnapping victim were thwarted by her father, who was a high-ranking policeman, and her brother, who was a reporter himself.

Not that they would have gotten the full story from Joan herself. At the center of the maelstrom, she was as confused as everybody else, not at the actual sequence of events, but the greater meaning of it all.

She had been rescued, not by a divine miracle, but by the falling out of her captors; in the process two people had been shot and she had nearly been raped. God had been nowhere in sight. Where was He?


	7. Case Closed?

**In the Midst of my Enemies**

**Chapter 7 Case Closed?**

The FBI waited a day to give Joan time to recover from the shocking events, but ultimately insisted on her returning to the crime scene at the side of the road. Among other things, they wanted to recover the gun. Joan was allowed to bring some family members for moral support, so she elected her father, who could help deal with the police, and her husband.

"There are some weird features in the case," Will commented as they followed the FBI vehicle in the family car.

_Yeah, Dad, you don't know half of it. _Aloud she said," What do you mean, Dad?"

"Hunter could claim that he used the gun to thwart criminal behavior – mitigating circumstances. On the other hand, the circumstances came up only because he had committed a crime in the first place."

"Yeah."

"And the change in behavior in the middle is mystifying. Why keep hands off during most of the kidnapping, then suddenly decide to tie you up."

_Eeew, I'm going to have to bend the truth some. Bear false witness in the name of God, talk about weird._ Adam, sitting beside his wife, pressed her hand silently. He understood her dilemma.

"He's a fanatic, Dad. Asked me if I thought God was going to do a miracle and rescue me, and my answer ticked him off." Anxious to change the subject, she asked, "There's something I'm curious about. Why was Professor Begh willing to put up so much money for me? A wonderful gesture, but I'm not that close a friend. He knows Grace better."

"I asked him. He said that he had participated in hostage negotiations in a troubled Near East country, years ago. When his employers wouldn't pay the ransom, the hostages were murdered. This time, it was like an opportunity to do it over, and he wasn't going to risk another killing when he had it in his power to pay."

"It was still a wonderful gesture."

"I agree. But you shouldn't talk about it much."

"What? Why not?"

"Copycat crimes. If somebody knew he is inclined to pay ransom, they might target his daughter for another kidnapping."

"S***."

"I agree, Joan," said her father, instead of scolding her for rude language. "It's terrible that the most noble person in the whole case has to hide his virtue under a bushel."

"I'm going to draw his portrait, and give it to him," said Adam. "At least show him how we feel ourselves."

"The site is up ahead," said Will. "Do you need time to compose yourself, Joan?"

"No, I'm OK."

They joined the FBI crew. The site originally chosen by Hunter for his isolation was not full of

police cars and men in uniform.

"Your original rescuers saw blood on the grass," said the forensics chief. "They came back in got some DNA samples before the weather could wash it away. Mainly we want to retrieve the gun and check it for fingerprints."

"Let me see – he stood right here, and threw it like THAT," mused Joan. "I didn't see where it landed, though."

"We can use metal detectors. We still want you to formally identify it if we find it."

Joan, with time temporarily free, looked around the site, trying to reimagine the events. In the distance down the road, she saw a familiar figure. A kid dressed up with spiky hair and heavy makeup. The FBI people didn't see him; they might have considered him a suspicious character.

"Mind if I stretch my legs a bit?" asked Joan.

"Go ahead, just don't wander too far," said an agent.

"I'll go with you," insisted Adam.

"OK"

They walked up to the odd figure. At that point the woods jutted out a bit, so that one could stand on the other side and be out of sight from the crime site. Joan doubted that that was a coincidence.

"All right," she demanded. "I want an explanation. Why didn't You rescue me?"

"I foreknew that you would be rescued anyway," said Goth God. "To quote Macbeth: if chance shall make me king, then chance shall crown me, without my stir." That irritatingly calm statement matched His tenor voice and doe-like eyes.

"Fine, but unlike you, I'm a human being and I nearly had the hell scared out of me. Unlike you, I can't foreknow that things will turn out cool. And if you had stirred earlier, you could have prevented a lot of sufferings. Two shootings, an attempt to rape me, not to mention all the anguish you put my family through."

"Let me turn the question around," said Goth God. "You had a chance to run away after Hunter threw away the gun and untied you. Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't run with 2 lives at stake."

"Exactly. Except that from my point of view, there were 3 souls at stake."

"Souls? "

"This may sound strange to you, Joan, but Hunter has a great soul. It was why I befriended him in the first place. But for two years it has been corrupted. He thinks he is getting revenge against me; while instead he is simply playing Me. 'I can destroy a church'. 'I can make a deal with the devil'. 'I have Joan Girardi under my control.' But the collapse of his last plan – the knowledge that he nearly had to choose between a killing and a rape and that it was his own doing – will finally shock him into his abandoning his self-righteousness. What was intended as a lesson for you ended as a lesson for him. It will be slow, but he will return. The same is true for the two youths, who will realize how self-destructive their lives have been. Just as your friend Judith realized when she gave herself alcohol poisoning. A certain kind of soul must touch bottom before it can rise again. "

"So this is all about getting Hunter back? I never counted? I was just the girl you met on the rebound, and made a good substitute?" she asked bitterly.

"No, no, Joan, you are precious too. Perhaps a metaphor will help. _If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray , does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that has gone astray? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than the ninety-nine that never went astray._ It is the redemption that matters, not the difference between you and Hunter."

"That's the Parable of the Good Shepherd. I'm not a sheep."

"Then look at your own history. Let me remind you of events that happened nearly three years ago. I asked you to date Ramsey, and you did, even though it jeopardized your relationship with Adam. Why? You weren't just being obedient, were you?"

_Dammit, why did He have to bright that up in front of Adam?_ "No. I had this stupid idea that I was supposed to be a redeeming angel, leading Ramsey back to goodness. It didn't turn out that way."

"Not then. But you do understand the desire to redeem."

"Yes," she said reluctantly.

"Don't get too agreeable, Jane," said Adam, suddenly speaking up for the first time. "He must have had some way of redeeming Hunter, if it was that important, without endangering you."

"Oh, yes," said Goth God. "I could have said, _Ryan, thou shalt be good._ But he wouldn't be Hunter any longer, but my robot. I am omnipotent, but I impose constraints on myself, and preserving free will is one of them. Letting events work themselves out worked."

"Fine. Maybe using our free will, we will choose not to cooperate on your next mission," threatened Adam.

"But you will, once you realize its importance," said Goth God. "Until then, simply think on what I have said."

And the eerie, mysterious Presence disappeared into the woods.

THE END.


End file.
